Our love is taking wing
by Ann aspiring writer
Summary: Erik's thoughts after losing his beloved Christine. I tried to portray his struggle to cope with the flood of memories coming back to him while trying to mend is broken heart. Christine has a meaningful conversation with Raoul and thus realizes an important truth. What could it be? Read and find out! Please let me know what you think!
1. His broken heart

Oh Christine, my Christine, my beloved angel... but NO! I have no right to call you mine, for you are not and you will never be... It breaks my heart in even tinier pieces to think of it this way, but I have to face the truth. Sooner or later I have to go in front of the mirror in your lair, where I foolishly hoped you will live and say to the distorted face I will unavoidably encounter:

"There's no use… she's gone, forever gone. She came here for only a moment, lighted up this dark place of abode that you darken even more with your monstrous presence, shone the light of her ingenuity for only a second and then, rightfully frightened but you or your traps, she ran away terrified… probably whishing never to return here. Wishing there would be a way to convince herself that all this was only a nightmare, a horrible one, the kind of bad dream that wakes you up screaming, but evanescent - only a chimera of the night, destined to vanish at the crack of dawn."

The unfathomable depths of my soul are crumbling … my music, my voice, nothing can comfort me now. Lifting my weary head and desperately searching for my mask, I gaze around, taking in my destroyed home. I don't know how I could gather the strength to save my own life from the unstoppable force of the mob, fiercely searching the place in order to kill the monster that terrorized the prestigious Opera Populaire. I crept along the hidden passages, crying tears of rage and desperation as everything I struggled to create for my beloved Christine was torn to pieces, gone with the savage wind of their fury.

But it doesn't matter anyway. I know now, I have to see clearly now that it never mattered. How could someone so beautiful, innocent and perfect ever fall in love with me, or even cast more than a pitiful glance towards me? Of course, I used to be her maestro, her adored Angel of Music, the substitute of her father. And yet again, I ruined everything I had built with my ambition to make her feel something more for me than thankfulness.

This is when I went down the path to perdition, when I followed the burning jealousy that took hold of my heart and never let me go ever since Raoul de Chagny was mesmerized by her beauty and talent, on that faithful night when he contemplated her performance. The performance I fought so much in order to have it given to her. It should have been me… it could have been me, had I been worthy of her beauty and charm.

Poor girl… how utterly terrified she looked that night on the roof. How lonely and scared when she confessed to _him, _when she prayed him to take her away… away from me. That is what she wanted all along – to break free from all the secrets, lies and pretences. And of course, Raoul came along, a knight in shiny armor, being all that I couldn't ever be- handsome, gentle and safe. I cannot blame Christine. Honestly, had it not been him, somebody else would have come along and would have stolen her from me for ever.

I hope she can see me now as what I really am. Tormented, troubled and insecure, hiding behind a mask that doesn't cover only half of my face, but also my vulnerable, broken soul. I would find it sort of amusing if I read about such a man in one of the books I love so much or if I composed a symphony about him – a stranger, anybody else but me. Unfortunately, it's ME . Turning my back on society, spending a lifetime in darkness, intimidating innocent people with my impenetrable persona. A character so strong and invincible that couldn't be real. I can't become the Phantom of the Opera, because it doesn't exist.

No, there is just poor Erik.

Left here all alone by his beloved Christine. She is such an extraordinary girl – willing to become my living bride and bury herself alive here with me. But I know and knew all along that it would have slowly killed me to deprive her of her liberty, like a tiny bird trapped in a cage, with her brightly colored feathers turning to grey day by day, kept away from the healing light of day. Even a creature so desperate as myself couldn't lie to itself and pretend not to notice every fake and unhappy smile and every tear cautiously hidden from my sight. I couldn't make her love me. And I could not oblige her to love. She was willing to try.

But, this way, I am left with the hope that she may one day think of me with respect for all that I have meant to her during her lonely childhood, as a soothing voice resonating with comfort, a mystery that only she could ever decipher…

The echo of her passion for music, resounding for ever through the dark passages of the Opera Populaire where she once used to dream of fathoming the enigmas of music, guided by her protective Angel of Music.


	2. A tender melody

"My dearest, dearest Christine! If it wasn't for your heavenly presence right here, by my side, I could swear that, all of a sudden, I've lost my mind and fallen into that dark abyss of wandering thoughts. But you, my darling, are the living proof that this abhorrent creature exists, threatening the world with its madness and …"

"Raoul, you mustn't say such things" I manage to articulate through clenched teeth, for I'm afraid of losing the tiny remnants of control that haven't left me yet.

"Still they are true… so true. When I was only a child, I would creep into the library, at night, without my parents knowing it and read novels about monsters like this one. Ironically, I became familiar, by force of the written word, with this sort of abject freaks who put in danger so many lives for the sake of their twisted desires."

"Raoul, please stop!"

"Little did I know that there was such a creature waiting for us in the hidden passages of the Opera Populaire, trying to satisfy his insatiable lust for flesh and blood. What an innocent, precious and clueless victim! You! "

"I hope you understand enough to realize that it wasn't like that. His sole purpose was to guide me, to become a mentor and an unseen friend, to hide behind the mystery of darkness. _I_ begged him to show himself to me!"

"But you were only a naïve girl, mesmerized by the enigma he represented. He couldn't have expected you to fathom what he was, to cope with the fact that your beloved Angel of Music was actually the self-proclaimed Opera Ghost, who was actually a disturbed _man – a man_ lurking in the shadows, consumed by his illicit passion for someone so out of his league."

"Maybe he was wrong… but is it really so wrong to hope against hope that someday someone will accept you as you are, especially when you've done everything you ever could for that one person? Can't you see? Had it been you, alone out there, always stigmatized, neglected and hated, wouldn't you have become like him? And still it's a miracle that he could still find in his soul an emotion so deep, pure enough to give him a flicker of light."

"Yes, a flicker of light blazing a fire of hatred and jealousy. He wanted nothing but to entrap you, to steal you away from me, from your peaceful world. Is this the emotion you were talking about?"

"No, Raoul. I don't know how I'll make you understand if you only choose to see what lies on the surface. It pains me enormously to acknowledge that there is, indeed, an appearance of cruelty and insanity that drives everyone away from him. But on the bottom of his broken heart... "

"…is even more cruelty. This is what he is made of!"

"…is the extraordinary kindness which he has shown me for so many years – the brilliant talent he chose to impart with _me_, because I deceived him. I made him believe in my nobility and goodness, encouraged him to feed on a shining illusion. I believe he identified me with the light at the end of his tunnel of suffering, pain and humiliation, an ideal more than a living person."

"I cannot accept this! He wanted to keep you lingering in that rut, as his living bride. _Bride_ – what is platonic and idealistic in that?"

"You know he wouldn't have dared to touch me without my consent! He wouldn't have stoop so low – not with me, or any other woman. He desperately struggled for my companionship, for my presence in his life. He couldn't bear my walking out of his life forever. And what other way to fight for me than an oath in front of God – he trusted me so, knew me so well that he was sure I could never run away after I'd given my word. Poor, poor Erik."

"Christine, he tried to kill me."

"He was desperate, on the verge of losing his mind, his home, the myth that enveloped him, his life and _me._ Can you honestly say that you wouldn't have done the same, wouldn't try to take revenge on what seemed the cause?"

For the first time since we drove away from the Opera Populaire, I turn my weary head towards him and look at his incredulous face. I got to make him understand, I just got to!

"But he is a genius. He finally realized _it _and from that moment on, there was no second choice for him. He could look the painful truth in the eye: you weren't the cause. " _You were my escape._ "The primal cause was my belonging to a world antagonistic to his own – he couldn't condemn me to an existence devoid of light and normality, even if I would have committed myself to him. Because he loved me. I see it clearly now – as much as he craved for someone to share his solitude and heal his wounds, he cherished my happiness even more. He made the ultimate sacrifice for me and I _am _fully aware of that. I will be forever thankful to him for this and you can say anything whatsoever. I know him."

"I didn't look at the matter like this…until now. Even though this may excuse him in your eyes and give him the redemption he deserves for the good he has done to you, he still is abominable in the eyes of humanity. He must be – this is his punishment for the crimes he tainted his soul with. But you are right – we cannot deny that his heart was permeated with dreams to help you become an accomplished singer and, moreover, a perfect person. And this really does him justice."

"Oh, my darling, I'm so glad you really see him now from a point of view closer to my own. You know, this is why I don't want to forget him and never will."

They say that at some point in our lives, we all meet a person that forever changes our destiny and plays a grand part in shaping up what we are. Christine had always known that her miraculous Angel of Music, sent by her father to guide her, was there. Right next to her, the friend she could count on, but also in her heart, the whispers of a beautiful voice, gently singing the melody of life and passion, affecting her in ways undefined.

And now, as she was running away from the Opera Populaire with her fiancée Raoul, she felt her soul more complete than ever, carrying within its unfathomable depths the sacred remains of a profound and passionate love story that would go on eternally, for it was a melody defined by suave notes on life's stave.


	3. Reaching Wonderland

The carriage door opened in front of the De Chagny mansion and a tired, mud-stained Raoul quietly helped Christine out. Midnight was enveloping them in a protective cloak, as if aware of the hardships they had encountered during that impossibly long and strenuous day. Had it not been for their strained nerves, the silence that reigned all over the place would have been seemed welcoming and serene. However, it was eerie. There were too many voices, too many screams and shouts struggling to take hold of both their minds, making sure they left a permanent mark – infinitely amplified by the dull atmosphere, completely devoid of sound.

Christine laid her eyes upon the impressive mass of shadows shaping up against the distant sky. Her new place of abode stood out in the neutral crowd of stars, so far-flung and unreachable. Just like Erik, after what had taken place only a few hours before.

Even in her dream-like state, this thought still seemed to her an implausible and unwanted idea, rather than an unchangeable reality. Suddenly, she felt the need to sigh. It was almost inaudible and Raoul, lost in his own insistent thoughts, didn't hear it. Or maybe he just didn't know what to say to her. In fact, not even she could tell what it meant: resignation in front of the inevitable, sadness for having ended a capital chapter of her life in such a heart-wrenching way, or wonder in front of a future so unlike her past.

All that she had been craving for since their conversation was a bed, even though she was pretty sure it wouldn't be too difficult for her to fall into a deep sleep right then and there. It seemed to Christine that the most effective way to deal with everything was to close the door and turn the key on all the recent memories. She knew she would have to face it again sooner or later, but she definitely preferred later. Right now, she just wanted to succumb to the benevolent power of rest.

"I really hope we can creep inside without being heard. I'm not in the habit to show up in the middle of the night with an unknown girl, dressed as if I had dragged myself for at least one mile in the mud. "

"Of course. It is not exactly my express desire to become acquainted with your family while looking like this." To be honest, she had always been terrified of the encounter with Raoul's wealthy and aristocratic family. She had felt she wouldn't be able to rise to the occasion and she'd make a fool of herself, behaving like a shy choir girl in front of them all. Especially tonight, when she was so vulnerable.

"We could use the entrance of the servants. With a little luck, the door should be unlocked. In my childhood, I would explore those rooms and play tricks on Thomas and Molly, my favorite ones. You'll meet them tomorrow. As I know the rooms inside out, the darkness won't be a problem."

Christine could only nod and follow him.

With still trembling fingers, Raoul took her hand in his, while his other arm circled around her thin waist. He then guided her hesitant steps on the large stone walk until they approached the place where the manor's main entrance could be better seen during the day. He had been planning for so long to show his fiancée their home. It would have been his greatest pleasure to make her a royal tour of the building, introducing her to the secret corners that meant so much to him, showing her the splendor of the sculpted facades decorated with elegant statues and presenting to her the grandeur of the richly furnished rooms. However, the unforgettable first impression was spoilt. She could only guess the imposing appearance of the house, which probably intimidated her after such a shocking evening.

Circling the walls and protruding into the vast domain, like a peninsula in the ocean, there were rows of flowers arranged around the manor. It must have been a lovely view in the daylight, creating a welcoming sensation of freshness and liveliness.

"Those flowers are my mother's faiblaisse. She'll be delighted to pride herself on them while you'll be both enjoying a walk ."

"There's nothing I'd love to do more. It will be an honor to meet your mother. You know, my father had a passion for flowers. He used to say they were so beautiful, pure and sweet. He would often compare me to a primrose, my mother's favorite. "

They made their way to a lateral door, somewhat hidden from view in a discreet way, barely discernible in the dark. Raoul waited a moment and she understood, from the way he stood still, that he tried to capture any sound coming from the inside. After a couple of minutes bathed in silence, he decided to take the chances and nodded to Christine.

Slowly, like a thief on the verge of breaking into a house as rich as Ali Baba's magical cave, he turned the handle. Fortunately, the door had been left on the latch. Maggie, the responsible with the keys, had probably forgotten to lock it again. He finally let out his breath and entered that familiar part of the house – firstly, a narrow hall devoid of furniture which opened into a warm and cosy salon, the agora of the servants. It was dimly lit by the dying wood in the fireplace. Christine took in the comfortable room and found herself taken back in time, in the little house where she and her father would spend wonderful days together, inventing fabulous stories and playing the violin all day long. She took an instant liking to the salon and resolved to come there as often as possible.

Walking cautiously behind Raoul, Christine soon left behind the charming room and entered a longer and larger corridor than the first. On both sides of this hall, they could see the doors of the servant's chambers.

"So many…"

"You'll grow accustomed to it. Mother insists on us having plenty of servants, even though some of them aren't at all necessary" he retorted to her bewildered whisper.

However, she couldn't believe her eyes. The corridor was exactly like the one that led to the girl's rooms at the Opera Populaire – the choir girls, the dancers … enough people to put on a show were working here for a single family! She suddenly felt afraid of her position here – she used to be one of them, a naïve debutante who had lived and dreamed in a chamber like this.

The corridor took them straight into the main entrance of the house, in which he opened like a river forming a delta. Had they been able to enter through the principal door, they would have stepped directly into this immense and circular hall, communicating with every wing of the house. In the middle of the beautiful room, the dark silhouette of a grand staircase could be seen, leading to the upper floor.

"I hope you don't mind my being prepared for your coming to live here. I told Maggie to make my favorite chamber in the manor fit for you, my darling. I also allowed a trustworthy friend of our family to choose a few clothes, of the finest quality, so as to prevent unfortunate circumstances, like the one that took place tonight."

"Raoul, you are awfully kind. But I cannot accept such expensive gifts from a friend of your family, whom I don't even know. All I need is a nightgown to change into."

Indeed, her bridal gown was ruined, stained with mud, torn by the stony walls of the passages and extremely uncomfortable after being soaking wet and drying directly on the skin.

"Please Christine, they are no longer gifts, but necessities. You can't imagine how please I am that I can help you, even in this insignificant way."

"We'll talk more about this tomorrow. Right now, I want to thank you because the gown certainly comes in handy."

They climbed the staircase, relying on the carved balustrade for support and reached the upper floor. Hardly had they had time to look around them than they saw a dim light under a door on the left.

"It's my mother's chamber. She must be still writing."

"And your father?" asked Christine, a little surprised to hear of the literary nature of the lady she was to meet in the morning.

"He's not at home" replied Raoul. He seemed a little uncomfortable about the subject and didn't say anything more.

He escorted Christine to a door at the end of the corridor, next to a crystal window which let in the mysterious and serene light of the moon.

"I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well, my love." With that, he turned around and retraced his steps to one of the rooms farthest away, on the other side of the sleeping wing of the house.

Inside, Christine gathered her last powers and changed into an exquisite nightgown she found in the chest of drawers, among a plethora of elegant dresses. "A few clothes… I don't think so, Raoul."

She then managed to reach the bed and feel blessed when she felt the soft cotton mattress and pillow caress her back. Instantly, everything vanished into thin air, turning into nothing and she fell asleep.

**This is more of a descriptive chapter because I know I didn't make things very clear in Chapter 2. **

** I'm planning to write a chapter in which Christine meets Raoul's familiy and something she notices regarding it make her think of Erik again.**

** Please let me know what you think.**


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